Without You
by fanboy-anonymous
Summary: Since the death of his brother, Sam Winchester has been on a downward spiral of violence, drinking and casual sex. While hunting demons in Tennessee, Sam has no idea it will lead him to the one thing he craves more than anything... Contains "Wincest" .
1. Chapter 1

"**WITHOUT YOU"**

**chapter one**

_Sam!..._

_Sam!..._

_Sammy!..._

Sam Winchester's whole body jerked awake, his eyes shot open, and he sat up rigid in one lightning fast movement, the sound of his brother's voice still ringing in his ears.

He blinked in the darkness of the room, disorientated and panting for breath.He swallowed hard and felt a scratchy pain at the back of his throat. A massive headache seemed to come out of nowhere and hit him like an anvil between the eyes. He winced, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair, which was matted with sweat and reeked of cigarette smoke.

He used the sheets to mop up the sweat on his chest and felt the cold, hard little object that lay against his skin...

Dean's amulet.

He had taken it from around his brother's neck, right before he and Bobby had buried Dean. Right before he had planted his brother's lifeless body in a hole in the ground, in the middle of nowhere, and covered it with dirt.

How long ago had it been...? Two months? Three? He couldn't even remember. Since he'd lost Dean, things had gotten a little hazy – one day blurring into the next; one motel turning into another; one bar into another; one girl into another. It was like time didn't mean anything anymore.

_Nothing_ meant anything anymore. Not without Dean.

A dull ache hit Sam in the chest as he lightly fingered the tiny artefact around his neck – the only part of Dean he had left. Apart from the Impala, that was. But when he drove his brother's beloved car, it never really felt right – like he was wearing someone else's underwear or something. It didn't really suit him. It was Dean's thing. But he had promised his brother he'd take care of it, and he wasn't about to go back on his word.

After wiping away the last traces of sweat from his bare chest, Sam lay back down on the bed and let his head sink into the pillow. He slung one arm over his forehead and let out a deep sigh, bringing out the stale taste of alcohol on his breath. He couldn't even remember the name of the bar he'd been at tonight; couldn't remember exactly how many drinks he'd had; couldn't quite recall the name of the blonde girl (or had she been a brunette?) who'd given him a lacklustre blow job in the middle of the men's bathroom.

He could, however, still remember clearly, vividly, the blank look in Dean's eyes as he'd lay dead in his arms. It haunted Sam's every waking minute. And when he closed his eyes to sleep, the sound of Dean's voice, screaming his name, would rise up from the deep dark, growing louder and louder until Sam wanted to grab something heavy and bludgeon himself until it stopped.

He leaned over the edge of the bed, reached into his duffel bag on the floor, and pulled out a pack of Aspirin. He popped five pills into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of beer from the half-empty bottle on the night-stand, then lay back and closed his eyes, half-hoping that they would never open again.

…

Sam drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours. Every time he woke, his head felt fuzzier, his throat and mouth drier, and his eyelids heavier and harder to open.

Dean's voice grew louder in his head until it almost drowned out the sound of the passing traffic on the highway next to the motel.

Sam turned over onto his stomach, then onto his side; curled up into a ball, then stretched his long limbs out across the bed; put the pillow over his head, then took it off again; slid his underwear off when he felt hot, and pulled them back on when he felt cold. Every time he peered over at the alarm clock, only a few minutes had passed until, finally, he couldn't take it anymore. At 6:43 a.m., he flung back the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up and staggering across the floor towards the bathroom.

Without bothering to flip the light switch, Sam went into the darkened bathroom and turned on the shower, slipping off his shorts and stepping under the hot stream. After a quick scrub, he emerged from the steamy bathroom, yawning as he towel-dried his hair. After throwing the wet towel on the edge of the bed, he padded over to the window, leaving wet footprints in the carpet behind him, and threw open the drapes.

The orange and pink light of sunrise filled the motel room and washed over Sam's warm, moist skin. He closed his eyes and stood still, bathing in the light, listening to his own rhythmic breathing – in and out, in and out, in and out...

_Sunrise._

_Sam had woken up at sunrise once, and it had looked just like this. He had opened up the drapes and stood at the window, just like this. _

_Dean had wakened and silently climbed out of bed. He'd come up behind Sam and slid his arms around his waist, pulling him in closer, pressing his hard-on into the back of Sam's thigh. Sam's heart had skipped a beat when Dean had nuzzled into his shoulder and whispered, "Good morning, Sammy..."_

_The sensation of Dean's breath, soft against his skin, had sent shivers down Sam's spine._

"_Good morning, Dean..." he'd whispered back, closing his eyes as his brother began to kiss and nibble at the curve of his neck. Sam's mouth had went dry and his fingertips had started to tingle._

_Dean's fingertips had slowly slid down Sam's abdomen, into the waistband of his shorts, through the fuzzy patch of pubic hair, and wrapped around his... _

Sam only realized he'd fallen asleep on his feet when a knock at the door wakened him, and his eyes slowly peeled open.

His first thought was that Bobby had finally found him. But, as dazed and confused as he was, he knew deep down that it was unlikely, that even someone as resourceful as his father's old friend couldn't possibly have managed to find a trail buried beneath all of the aliases and fake credit cards, stolen cars and unregistered cellphones.

There was another knock at the door, louder and more urgent.

Sam took a deep breath and lurched clumsily towards the door, still feeling dreamy, slightly detached from his own body. It was as if he had no real control over his actions anymore; he was just a passenger, an observer along for the ride. Unable to hit the brakes.

He turned the doorknob and pulled the door wide open, only vaguely aware that he should have pulled on some clothes first.

A short, balding man stood in front of him, his small, button-like eyes widening as they moved down across Sam's naked body and then back up to his face. Sam lazily reached down and cupped his hand around his privates, more out of politeness and civility towards the man than embarrassment on his part; Sam didn't care who saw him naked. Not anymore. What was the point of being modest anyway? Dean had never been shy, so why should he...?

"Yeah?" he asked, yawning and leaning idly against the edge of the door.

The short man cleared his throat. "Um, a... um, young woman called the front desk last night, and um... left a message." He held up a small white envelope. Sam lifted his hand away from his crotch and took it, and the short man nervously cleared his throat again.

"She said she was unable to reach you on your cellphone," he continued, making sure his eyes stayed on Sam's face, "and that I should wake you at seven o'clock sharp."

Sam quickly glanced over his shoulder at the alarm clock in the room. It was exactly 7:00 a.m. When he turned back, he nodded, and the short man gave a weak smile before scuttling off, his eyes on the ground. Sam stared out across the parking lot. A frumpy, middle-aged woman and her pre-teen son were heading for reception when the boy stopped dead and pointed at Sam, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. The horrified mother rushed over to shield her son's eyes. Sam saluted her, smiling sarcastically, and then turned and gave her a full view of his bare ass before kicking the door shut behind him.

He chuckled to himself, leaning against the inside of the door as he ripped open the envelope. Inside was a yellow post-it, with a message scribbled in the barely-legible handwriting of the desk clerk:

_Sam – _

_Switch your god-damn cell on! _

_I think I have a lead, but I've got some digging to do first._

_Meet me in Nashville tomorrow. _

_I'll text you with the when and where._

_Ruby._


	2. Chapter 2

"**WITHOUT YOU"**

**chapter two**

There was blood everywhere.

It was sprayed all over the walls, spattered over the bed sheets, dripping from the ceiling fan. It was matted in Sam's hair, smeared across his mouth, dried onto his skin, all over his naked body.

He sat on the floor in the corner, still panting for breath, surveying the carnage in the room, the evidence of the violent frenzy that had taken place only minutes ago: the broken, twisted female body lying face-down in the middle of the floor, surrounded by clumps of ripped-out hair, chunks of bloody skin and flesh ripped away from the bone. Sam could do nothing but stare at the mess, his arms hugging his folded legs in tight against his chest, his chin resting on his knee. His eyes were filled with hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill over his eyelids at any moment.

_How did it come to this...? _he wondered.

How had he become so addicted to the blood that he couldn't even last a simple Tuesday afternoon without it, even knowing that he was seeing Ruby the next day? And would she be able to sense that he had drank another demon's blood...?

Sam let out a strangled whimper, hugging himself tighter and pressing his face into his knees. He sobbed quietly, his whole body trembling, letting the hot tears streak down his face, mixing with the blood before dripping onto the hairs on his legs.

_If Dean were here..._ he thought, and then forced himself to stop; it was too painful to think about Dean. It hurt to imagine being able to touch his brother, being able to pull him in close and smell him, kiss him, taste him, pull him down onto the bed and make love like it was their first time all over again...

A sharp pang hit Sam's heart.

It was hopeless. He knew that now.

He knew that his brother was never coming back – no matter how much Sam cried, no matter how many rituals or spells he cast, no matter how many demons he tried to bargain with. His only chance for revenge was in hunting down Lilith and making her suffer.

And that meant he had to keep drinking the blood.

_This is all for Dean..._ he kept telling himself.

_This is for Dean... It's all for Dean..._

_It's all worth it because it's for Dean._

…

Sam wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and glanced at the clock. Thirty-eight minutes had passed.

It was time to get up. He had to get rid of the body.

He held on to the edge of the bed and hauled himself up onto his feet, swaying slightly, still light-headed, still feeling the rapturous after-effects of the demon blood flowing through him. His entire body was throbbing. Unused channels in his brain were opening up, coursing with energy and power – every vein, every fibre, every molecule crackling with electricity.

He could feel it in his fingertips. It pulsed behind his eyes. It made his painfully erect cock spasm and twitch. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once, and Sam was more than a little disappointed that he couldn't stay longer, savour the feeling, writhe around on the bed, tangled in the sheets, touching himself.

Dizzy and disorientated, he staggered around the room, picking up his discarded clothes. He almost fell over as he pulled on his jeans, buttoned his shirt up twice the wrong way before finally getting it right, then washed the blood out of his hair and face in the sink.

He made a quick trip to a local convenience store, bought cleaning products, and rushed back, spending the next two hours scrubbing and bleaching the motel room. He stripped off the bed sheets, stuffed them into a garbage bag and replaced them with the spare set from the closet, then opened the window to let in some fresh air. He folded up the dead body, snapping the bones to make it more compact, gagging at the cracking noise, retching when he saw how grotesque and inhuman it looked. But he couldn't stop now. He had to keep moving.

He emptied a suitcase full of weapons into the back seat of the Impala, took it into the motel room and stuffed the corpse inside, zipped it shut and dragged it back out to the car when he was sure nobody was watching.

For a moment, he found himself feeling glad that the demon had possessed such a petite woman's body, and then quickly chastised himself for having such a distasteful thought. Now that the euphoria caused by the blood was ebbing away, guilt and fear were setting in.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh God, I'm sorry. I should have just drank the blood and exorcised the demon. I didn't have to destroy the body. That poor woman. That poor woman. Oh God, I hope she was already dead. Please, please, please. I don't know what came over me. I couldn't stop. Oh God, oh God._

Sam slung all of his belongings onto the back seat of the car and went back to check the room one last time.

There was still a large, dark stain on the carpet where the body had been. Sam had scrubbed and scrubbed, but it was still there. He dragged the circular rug over from the foot of the bed and covered up the stain as best he could. It didn't really matter. The room was registered to a false name, paid for with a fake credit card. The desk clerk had barely looked at Sam when he'd checked in, and it had been late, dark, raining. He'd been wearing his hood up, covering most of his face.

_It's okay,_ he thought, though his heart was still pounding. _Everything's okay._

He closed and locked the motel room, left the key at the front desk while the clerk was in the bathroom, and rushed back to the Impala. Sam climbed in, started the ignition and accelerated out of the parking lot, the tires screeching, the engine roaring, and the body in the back seat weighing hard on his conscience.

…

_Beep! Beep!_

_Beep! Beep!_

Sam was ripped out of his thoughts by the shrill ring of his cellphone. He pulled the car over and reached into his jacket pocket, taking out the phone and flipping it open.

He stared at the message through glassy eyes, struggling to bring the text into focus.

_Don't forget:_

_11 a.m. Tomorrow morning._

_Cherrywood Diner. _

_We'll find them. We'll make them talk._

_R. xx_

Sam sighed, clamping the phone shut and tossing it onto the passenger seat. He closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel.

_Oh, God, Dean... _he thought. _What am I supposed to do...? Please..._

He was going to have to pull himself together before he saw Ruby in Nashville tomorrow, or she would know something was wrong. She was already tired of Sam's emotions getting in the way of their mission. She hated that he couldn't focus on finding Lilith because he was too busy wallowing in his grief, pining for Dean, wailing his brother's name in his sleep.

If she knew that he had been so stupid, so reckless...

He sighed again, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Though he could still feel the power throbbing deep inside, he was coming down from the high of the demon blood. His head was thumping and his mouth was dry. His erection had subsided, leaving a dull ache in his groin. He felt shaky with hunger.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at a huge sign right in front of the car. It read: WILLIE'S BAR AND GRILL.

_Good,_ thought Sam, _I need a drink._


	3. Chapter 3

"**WITHOUT YOU"**

**chapter three**

"Can I have another one, please?" Sam asked, hearing the words come out a little slurred, but not really caring. The bartender stared at him for a long moment with disapproval, maybe even concern, in his expression, and then sighed, shrugging. "Sure," he said. "Same again?"

"Mmm-hmm," Sam hummed, sliding the empty shot glass across the bar.

"Make that two," said a voice at Sam's left ear. He swivelled around slowly on the bar stool until he was face to face with a beautiful young woman in her early twenties. She was blonde, had blue eyes, was probably a college senior. She leaned against the bar, smiling, biting her lip seductively.

Sam nodded. "Two," he said to the bartender, still staring at the girl.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey," said Sam. His gaze moved quickly down to her tanned legs, her thighs barely covered by a short grey skirt, up over her ample chest and back up to her pretty face. She was still biting her lip coquettishly, waiting for Sam to speak.

"I'm Sam," was all he could muster. But even that seemed to have impressed her as she took him in, her blue eyes lighting up as they drifted over every last inch on his body, lustful, ravenous.

She whimpered, salivating, almost licking her lips as she replied, half-whispering, "I'm Clara."

Sam couldn't decide whether this was pathetic or kind of a turn-on, or both. He nodded. He feigned a smile. He squirmed a little in his seat.

"My friends are over there..." she went on, gesturing over her shoulder. Sam glanced behind her and saw a mixed group of guys and girls, all young, all relatively attractive, all in their late teens or early twenties. Definitely college kids. "... We're kind of celebrating tonight."

"That's nice," Sam said flatly. He didn't want to know what they were celebrating; he didn't care.

The bartender set the tequilas down on the bar and Sam picked one of them up, slugged it back without hesitating. It seemed to turn the college chick on. What was her name again...? Sara?

Everything was getting a little hazy. The world tilted and swayed a little, and Sam found himself gripping onto the edge of the bar to keep from falling.

"You wanna join us?" she asked, picking up the second tequila and knocking it back, slamming the glass back down and licking her lips.

Before Sam could stop himself, he had said, "Yes." Why was he going along with this idiot girl's pathetic seduction? Why was he getting up off the bar stool? Why was he picking up his jacket and letting her take his hand? Things seemed to be moving in slow-motion as she led him across the the floor, towards the corner booth. She glanced back at him, admiring his muscular arms, his broad chest underneath his thin grey t-shirt. Her eyes moved all over him before she turned to her friends, beaming, ready to present him like a trophy.

"Guys, this is Sam," she said, almost squealing with excitement, gripping his hand tighter.

Sam couldn't help but smile at the faces gazing up at him – three girls and one guy with wide eyes, their tongues almost lolling out of their open mouths; one guy severely disinterested, briefly sizing Sam up before looking away and taking a big chug of beer; the macho, straighter-than-straight jock. Sam got the message.

"Hey," the rest of them chimed in unison, and Sam smiled.

"Who's the new guy?" came another voice from behind him. Sam turned to see another young man swaggering towards them, wearing a brown leather jacket, hands in his pockets, and the smile dropped from his face.

Short, light brown hair; pouting lips; broad shoulders. He looked just like Dean. In fact, he looked so much like Dean that it physically hurt Sam to look him. He felt like he might throw up, and he had to swallow hard several times to stop from gagging.

The young man stopped in front of Sam and the college chick (Sara? Lara?) and smiled. Sam's heart began to thud harder in his chest.

"Evan, this is Sam," said College Chick. "He's joining the party." She gazed up at Sam adoringly, still clasping his hand in hers.

"Cool," said Evan, grinning. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Sam."

…

They were in a bedroom, in a suburban house, on a tree-lined street.

How had they gotten here? Had Sam left the Impala at the bar? Where were his keys?

His vision was blurred. Everything seemed to be moving either too fast or too slow. One minute Sam was fully clothed, babbling incoherently to the jock in the baseball cap about cars and the NFL. The next, he was shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed with his belt unbuckled and his zipper undone, College Chick's hand thrust down the front of his jockey shorts.

He closed his eyes and lay back, drifting in and out of sleep as she yanked on his cock repeatedly, gripping too tight, not seeming to realize that he wasn't turned on.

An old Metallica song was playing in the background, dredging up a long-forgotten memory: lying on a bed in a hotel room, his head resting on Dean's chest, their fingers entwined, their limbs wrapped around each other in the cool, clean white sheets. The smell of salty sweat and sex. The radio playing this very song. God, how old had he been...? Fifteen? Sixteen? He hadn't thought about that day in forever.

The sound of smashing glass, followed by hysterical laughter, ripped him out of his thoughts, but he didn't open his eyes. He lay still and listened.

Someone was noisily snorting up cocaine nearby. Someone was talking too fast about _Dawn Of The Dead_ being some kind of metaphor for modern society's greed. Someone was moaning softly, "Fuck me, fuck me," over and over.

The smell of pizza wafted around the room, making Sam feel hungry. When was the last time he'd eaten?

College Chick's hand slid out of his underwear, and the weight shifted on the bed. Someone pulled at his jeans and shorts, tugging them down past his knees and letting them drop to the floor. He didn't move.

Lips pressed against his own, kissing him softly. After a few moments, a tongue gently slid inside his mouth and left a tiny pill on his tongue before retreating again. Sam swallowed it without thinking and kept on kissing, feeling light stubble graze against his chin. When the stranger's mouth withdrew from his own, Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared up at a blurry but familiar-looking face.

He smiled and whispered, "Dean."

The boy breathed a soft laugh and murmured, "Yeah, sure... I'm Dean." He kissed and licked his way down Sam's chest and stomach, whispering, "If you want Dean, I'm Dean."

Sam placed his hand on the boy's head and ran his fingers through Dean's soft, short hair. He imagined it was Dean's warm, wet mouth sucking the length of his cock; he imagined it was Dean's saliva-slicked fingers inside him, strumming rhythmically, making him buck with every motion, arching his back, whimpering, pleading for more. He almost blacked out from the intensity of his orgasm, feeling the effects of whatever drug he'd swallowed and the power of the demon blood throbbing deep inside him as he came in Dean's mouth.

Only it wasn't Dean, and he knew it.

When the post-orgasmic glow had ebbed away, Sam opened his eyes and stared up at the stranger crouching over him.

"Was that, um... was that okay?" the boy asked.

Sam nodded weakly. He rolled onto his side and curled up into a ball, feeling hot tears run down the side of his face and soak into the sheets.


	4. Chapter 4

"**WITHOUT YOU"**

**chapter four**

Sam woke several times throughout the night, his hair damp with sweat, his throat dry, pain throbbing behind his eyes.

The room was in darkness. Everyone else was asleep.

He thought about getting up and sneaking out, but he knew that if he tried to stand up, he would probably throw up everywhere. Instead, he tossed and turned for what felt like hours, curling back up into a ball and nestling under the sheets, trying to force himself back to sleep.

Once he'd finally drifted off, it didn't take long for the dreams to come.

"_Dean, what are we gonna do?" _

The words rang in his ears. The voice was faint, yet somehow, Sam recognized it immediately.

It was his own.

Out of the darkness, a familiar scene faded into view: a bed, in a hotel room, two figures naked, their limbs tangled in the clean white sheets. Sam recognized himself. He was maybe fourteen, fifteen years old. He lay with his head on Dean's chest, their fingers entwined. He could almost smell the salty sweat and sex.

"Dean, what are we gonna do?" He heard himself ask again.

Dean sighed, pressing his cheek against the top of Sam's head. "I don't know," he replied. "Carry on as normal, I guess."

Sam frowned. "But… how can we with everything that's been happening lately?"

Dean ran his fingers along Sam's upper arm. "What else are we supposed to do, Sam?" he asked. "March up to dad and tell him that we're sleeping together…? That we're in love…?"

Sam was quiet for a moment before answering. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know anything anymore, except… I love you."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah," he sighed. "I love you, too." He lifted Sam's chin and looked into his deep, green eyes. "Don't be afraid," he said quietly. "Whatever happens, I'll protect you..."

"_...It's my job to look out for my geek little brother…"_

…

The next time Sam opened his eyes, it was morning.

He was lying on his stomach on top of the sheets, legs splayed out, arms curled around the tear-stained pillow.

Someone was snoring softly behind him, their breath tickling his bare shoulder. Warm sunlight poured in through a gap in the drapes, baking the room, bringing out the reek of marijuana, sweat and take-out food.

The memory of the night before came rushing back, hitting Sam like a brick between the eyes. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

He knew that this hangover was going to be epic, and he knew that he had only himself to blame. He could only speculate as to what the various pills and powders he'd ingested had actually been.

Not to mention the fact that he'd been coming down from an intense demon blood high.

How could he have been so stupid?

"Hey," croaked a female voice behind him. "Tall guy?"

Sam turned over and found College Chick lying beside him, gazing up at him through tired, bloodshot blue eyes. She raked her fingers through her messy blonde hair and yawned. "Wanna fuck?" she whispered.

When he didn't answer, she raised an eyebrow and gazed at him expectantly.

"I have to use the bathroom," he said flatly.

She snorted and lay back on the bed. "Down the hall," she groaned, stretching out. "Last door on the left."

"Thanks," Sam murmured, getting up off the bed and instantly feeling the world spin beneath his feet. He steadied himself against the wall, swallowing hard. When he was certain he wasn't going to vomit all over College Chick's bedroom floor, he made his first tentative steps towards the door, surveying the room as he went.

His discarded clothes lay scattered across the floor, among the crushed beer cans and empty bottles, pizza boxes and used condoms. On the small couch, two dark-haired girls slept in their underwear, limbs entwined. On the rug in the middle of the floor, the jock – still wearing his red baseball cap – slept soundly underneath Sam's jacket, still gripping a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

Sam opened the door and staggered along the hallway, into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He fumbled with the lock for several seconds, his hands shaking, before finally giving up. He took a piss, then leaned over the toilet and jammed his fingers down his throat, his stomach heaving as a torrent of red vomit spewed out of him and crashed into the bowl. After throwing up four times, he flushed, then sat down on the cold bathroom floor, gasping for air, eyes bulging and tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he thought of all the times Dean had poked fun at him for not being able to hold his drink, all the times his older brother had hovered over him, kindly brushing his hair back from his face, but all the while making vomit-inducing remarks about greasy fast-food, Sam had to laugh.

If only Dean could see him now...

If only...

Sam shook off the thought and slowly got to his feet, wiping the tears from his face and clearing his throat. He had to get out of here. He was meeting Ruby in a few hours. He had to pull himself together, clean himself up and get out of here.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, washed his hair and scrubbed his body all over. Standing beneath the hot stream, letting it rinse him clean, Sam closed his eyes and found himself thinking of Dean.

Dean standing behind him. Dean kissing his neck. Dean's strong arms around his waist. Their wet bodies pressed together.

Sam's hand automatically moved down to his groin, finding his dick already semi-hard. When his fingers wrapped around it, he imagined they were Dean's fingers.

_Dean's fingers stroking him slowly at first, teasing, sliding up and down the length of his dick, now fully erect, throbbing. Dean's fingers working faster, making his heart beat faster, his breath catching in his throat, hips grinding gently into every stroke. Dean's fingers gripping tighter now, rapid strokes, the sensation of a fast-approaching orgasm growing in the pit of Sam's stomach, making him bite his lip, his toes curling into the floor..._

_Oh my God... _

_Dean... _

_I..._

Sam groaned loudly, his eyes clamped shut, stomach muscles tensing, whole body shuddering as he came. His knees almost buckled underneath him. He gripped the top of the shower cubicle with his left hand to steady himself, breathing hard, still jerking himself with his right hand. When the euphoric feeling finally ebbed away, he rinsed the milky-white semen off the glass door, got out and dried off.

Before leaving the bathroom, he gripped the door handle and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and promised himself that he wouldn't think about Dean for the rest of the day.

But even as he closed the door behind him, he knew that it was a promise he could never keep.

…

He walked almost a mile back to Willie's Bar And Grill, his hands stuffed in his pockets, hair blowing in the cool morning breeze. The Impala was in the parking lot, where he'd left it, and after checking at the bar, he discovered that the bartender had confiscated the keys the night before and locked them away for safekeeping.

Sam collected them and drove out of town, after texting Ruby and telling her he was on his way. As he drove along the highway, Led Zeppelin blasting from the stereo, he hoped beyond all hope that by the time he got there, she would be unable to sense that he'd ingested demon blood the day before.

He didn't know how she might react if she knew that he'd been... unfaithful.


End file.
